Queen of the Ashes

II.

Years passed before the girl thought seriously again about the story of the boy who could make fire.

In the weeks and months following the prince's departure, certain things about him lingered on in her memory – his unpredictable temperament, his ever-present frown, and his warm, gloved hands – but most of all, his strange story continued to puzzle her young mind.

She and her sister pantomimed it again and again during their playtimes, pretending that the young prince was still in the room, reciting the tale aloud to them. She had told her sister the ending he had related to her before setting sail, and though she still found it suspect, it made for easier and more pleasant theater than the original one.

Inevitably, his absence could not be ignored, and they spoke of him less and less. They moved on to new games and stories that could be acted out using the older sister's talents, which had only grown stronger and more impressive with time. Their favorite remained building snowmen together, and they learned to keep a hidden stockpile in their rooms of carrots, coals, and twigs with which they could decorate her creations.

It was during one such occasion, two years after the boy's visit, that their regular routine went awry.

In the midst of creating one snow peak after the other for her younger sister to jump onto, the older girl slipped, accidentally striking her sibling in the head. In the panic that ensued, the girls were brought by their parents to a mountain forest filled with stone trolls, who warned that the older girl's magic would only become more powerful as she aged... and more uncontrollable, as well.

The trolls used their own magic to remove the girl's powers from her sister's memories, though they did not alter them otherwise. Afraid of her own strength and what other horrors it might inflict, the girl could not stop them from casting their spell.

Upon their return, the staff were reduced by half and the gates locked as the king and queen sought to keep their daughter safe—and to keep others safe from her. Where once she was asked only to keep her magic secret from those outside of family, she was now forced to keep it secret even from her younger sister. Though the burden was great, the original incident had left the younger girl with a streak of white hair, and it served as a permanent reminder to the older girl of what her magic had done. Thereafter, she could hardly bring herself to look at her sister, much less speak to her, without feeling shame.

Conceal it, don't feel it, don't let it show, her father would repeat to her in her darkest moments, taking her hands in his. Eventually she began to whisper it to herself without his encouragement, integrating the mantra into her evening prayers.

The sisters' separation devastated their once close bond, as the older girl locked herself in her room for hours at a time, only leaving if absolutely necessary. She took all of her lessons, and even many of her meals, alone; during spells in which she refused to leave, her parents even brought her stacks of books to keep her occupied in her isolation. When she could no longer stand to be by herself, they would come to her room and read to her, though she still tried to keep some distance from them.

Her younger sister protested these special allowances at first, and continued to knock on the older girl's door every night with confidence that she would have to answer at some point. After a year or more of these thwarted attempts, however, she finally gave up trying to see her sister outside of certain prescribed events. She played alone in their favorite haunts of the castle – the library, the gardens, the gallery – and took to speaking to the portrait of Joan of Arc for hours on end.

The older girl watched her sister with sometimes unbearable grief, tempted more than once to open the door. Every time this thought arose, the memory of the younger girl laying on the floor of the gallery unconscious would accompany it, and this quickly quashed any temptation to remove herself from quarantine.